


Gut Feeling

by superstringtheory



Series: hungry heart [7]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Belly Kink, Established Relationship, F/M, Feeding Kink, Fluff and Smut, Grinding, Hand Feeding, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Stuffing, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-12-06 21:40:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18225761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superstringtheory/pseuds/superstringtheory
Summary: “I feel Melville-esque,” Jughead tells her. “Is that a word?” Betty laughs.“Like a whale? Well, darling, you certainly don’t look small.”





	Gut Feeling

“Jug?” Betty pushes the door of the trailer open slowly, looking concerned until she spots Jughead sitting at the little kitchen table. There’s an open cardboard box on the table and a pie tin in front of her boyfriend. The amount of pie seems to be steadily diminishing, and Betty can’t help the grin that spreads across her face, easy as frosting a cupcake. 

 

As she comes into the kitchen, Jughead’s in the middle of what looks like a big bite, and she notes the way his legs are spread a little to make room. 

 

“Hungry?” Betty asks fondly, as Jughead swallows another bite. She leans down to kiss the crown of his beanie. 

 

“Not anymore.” He burps softly into his fist, then forks more into his mouth. 

 

“But you’re still eating.” 

 

“Uh-huh.” 

 

“Here,” Betty says, drawing up a kitchen chair of her own. “Let me help.” She gently weasels the fork away from Jughead and slowly loads it up with the next bite. 

 

Jughead opens his mouth obediently, used to this game. Betty feeds him the bite, then another, and another until Jughead puts a palm up. 

 

“Too much?” Betty asks, and he shakes his head. 

 

“No-- just need a little break.” 

 

Betty nods, setting the fork down. She scoots her chair a little closer to Jughead and peels his t-shirt up over his belly, moving her hands lightly across its surface. Betty uses her hands to lightly massage the crest of it where it seems most taut and swollen, gently rubbing until Jughead belches a few times. 

 

“See?” Betty pats his stomach proprietarily. “You’ve got more room in there.”  

 

Jughead just leans back in response, the chair creaking as he moves. 

 

“Maybe if we move this into the bedroom I’ll have even more space.” He eyes Betty shrewdly, and all Betty want to do is let him take her clothes off with his teeth. He’s a hungry guy, her Jughead, in more ways than one. 

 

“More space, huh?” Betty raises an eyebrow. “You know what that means.” 

 

Jughead groans as he shifts his weight to stand up, but that’s all part of the game, too. He leans down to press a kiss to Betty’s forehead as he picks up the pie tin. 

 

“I’ll meet you in there.” 

 

***

 

When Betty gets into the bedroom, Jughead is laid out on the bed in the t-shirt and his boxers. His belly is spilling over the top of the boxers and he’s let the t-shirt ride up the way he knows she likes. 

 

“Jesus,” Betty murmurs. 

 

“I’m not religious,” Jughead replies. “Except when it comes to ice cream. None of that ‘frozen dairy dessert’ nonsense. I need the real thing.” He reaches out for the ice cream Betty’s carrying in one hand. 

 

“Don’t worry,” Betty says, setting the carton down on the nightstand. She turns it so that Jughead can see that it’s from Saints Ben and Jerry, flavor: Vanilla. 

 

Sometimes Betty plies him with Chubby Hubby or Chunky Monkey. She delights in buying him kooky one-off flavors and watching him down them in one sitting without even breaking a sweat. But this time she’s going classic vanilla so it doesn’t compete too much with the flavor of the pie. 

 

“Not too much pie left,” Betty notes, picking the tin up and weighing it in her hand.

 

“Been working--  _ urp _ \-- at it.” Jughead winces a little as Betty leans over him to snag the carton. She makes a psudo-sympathetic face and pats his tummy. 

 

“Easy there.” Jughead grins, then hiccups. 

 

“I’ll be careful.” Betty flaps her lashes at him and leans in again for a kiss, pressing against him a little more gently this time. 

 

Jughead can feel her smiling against his mouth. “You taste like pecan.” 

 

He shifts and groans lightly. “Think I’ll be made of pie soon.” 

 

“Not soon enough.” Betty scoots back to survey him and to load the spoon up with more ice cream. “Now open up. I have a few more things up my sleeve.” 

 

***

 

To Betty, “a few more things” apparently equals a “daily caloric intake in form of compressed whipped cream and a McDonald’s bag.” 

 

Betty feeds Jughead another bite of pie. A spoonful of ice cream, and then a whipped cream chaser. Jughead opens his mouth wide so that Betty can squeeze it right in. 

 

There’s a large cardboard pocket of fries in the McDonald’s bag, lukewarm but still “an excellent addition,” according to Jughead, who dips them in melted ice cream and pronounces the combination “disgustingly delightful.” 

 

After the fries and another mouthful of whipped cream, Jughead has to pause for a few sips of water and to stifle a deep burp. 

 

Betty shakes his belly gently and he can’t stifle the next few burps that bubble up, but the relief in pressure makes him groan a little. 

 

“You’re getting so full,” Betty tells him, and he preens a little under her gaze. “Really letting yourself go.” She delivers a light smack to his gut and Jughead makes a little “oof” sound. He readjusts himself against the pillows so he can lean over a bit to see how much is left in the ice cream carton. 

 

“Just the dregs,” Betty says before he asks. “Here.” She briefly uses his belly as a table for the carton as she maneuvers out of her sweater. 

 

“Go on,” she encourages after she’s half-undressed. “Drink up, and if you’re good I’ll take more off.” 

 

“Just drinking you in for a minute,” Jughead says, voice a little strained with fullness. “Just gimme a second.” 

 

“Gladly.” Betty pauses to stretch, feigning casualness. Jughead can see, though, that she’s watching him out of the corner of her eye, making sure that he’s following the curve of her breasts, the way her chest moves when she inhales and exhales. 

 

Jughead bites back a moan that has more to do with sexual frustration than eating so much he’s pinned down by the sheer weight of it. 

 

“Mm,” Betty says, finishing her stretch. “God, I’d love to take this off”-- she indicates her bra-- “but I’m afraid there’s still too much ice cream left for that. What do you think, Juggie?” 

 

Think? Jughead’s all belly and dick now, both hard as a rock and drowning out all logical thought. 

 

“I… think I have some ice cream to finish. Gimme.” He makes a grabbing motion for the container, and Betty hands it to him cheekily. 

 

Jughead peers into the container. Jesus. He hadn’t realized it was all melted. 

 

“Drink up, honey,” Betty laughs. God, she’s going to kill him, and he’s going to die loving it. 

 

***

 

There’s more melted ice cream in the carton than he expected-- he gulps and gulps and has to take a break while Betty offers him small sips of water until his stomach gurgles and sends up a few pressure-relieving belches. 

 

He has to work up to taking the last few swigs, and afterwards he lies there, Betty petting his stomach, her pupils wide. 

 

“I think I know what would make you feel better,” Betty whispers in his ear, her hair trailing along his neck. He feels half-drunk on food and her proximity, and he lies back and watches, glutted, as she shimmies out of her panties and then is naked before him, her eyes glittering with want. 

 

The next few moments pass in a haze- Betty carefully works his pants and underwear off, then climbs on top of him gently, careful not to jostle him too much. 

 

“I feel Melville-esque,” Jughead tells her. “Is that a word?” Betty laughs. 

 

“Like a whale? Well, darling, you certainly don’t look  _ small _ .” She pats his tummy and he groans and stifles a burp into his hand. 

 

“Indeed,” Betty continues, now finding his dick with her hand, her eyes never leaving his. “Indeed, I don’t see anywhere you’re small.” 

 

*** 

 

After a few minutes of that, Jughead decides that he’s too full for intercourse, but says that he can’t see the harm in trying that new thing they’d done last time. 

 

Ah, the last time he was so full he could barely move- what was it, only last week? Stuffed with burgers and sodden with rich, dark beer, they’d discovered that even if he were too full to thrust, it didn’t take a whole lot of effort to bring Betty to orgasm by straddling her and letting her slide herself up and down him. 

 

This activity is taxing, sure-- pretty much everything is when he’s full of a pint of ice cream and a whole pie, not to mention what feels like an entire can of whipped cream and a large order of fries-- but Jughead loves the way Betty looks when they’re doing it, the way he can feel the wet, desperate heat of her against him. 

 

To Betty, it feels almost like she’s fucking his belly, his fat, and it feels so good she can scarcely find words. 

 

“Jug, please…” she says after she can’t take the sensation any longer, and Jughead takes that as a cue to move on to the final act of this game. 

 

They rearrange on the bed so that Betty can finger herself as Jughead slowly, laboriously lowers his weight on top of her. 

 

“You’re making me so fat,” he whispers in her ear, and Betty comes. 

 

***** 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at superstringtheory.tumblr.com. :)


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